


Straight on 'til Morning

by convexxed



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Fluff, KaiSoo - Freeform, Light Angst, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 06:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10611165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convexxed/pseuds/convexxed
Summary: If lost, return to Do Kyungsoo.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my most recent work, written for Best Days of Our Lives fest. Writing this got hard at times, some others the words flowed easily and filled the pages. I've come a long way since I first started writing fanfiction and this piece right here is one of my favourite works. I also wrote this to deliver a message, to remind you all that you're deserving of love and happiness, and if you find yourself in a situation similar to the one depicted here, please reach out to someone you trust. You have a beautiful voice, please use it. Thanks to my beta for sharing some of her knowledge with me and always helping me come up with ideas.  
>  **Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Warnings:** Smoking, mentions of domestic violence and homophobia, foul language

Kyungsoo dips the wooden spoon back into his favourite blue bowl as he chews on soggy Cheerios, stirring the sugary milk before scooping up some more cereal for his next mouthful, although it never leaves the bowl. The utensil sinks back into the milk when Kyungsoo lets go of it in favour of picking up his buzzing phone, splashing droplets of milk over the surface of the wooden table.

 _ **K. Jongin:**  
What do you call a bear with no teeth?_  
.  
.  
.  
 _A gummy bear._

The pun is received with a huff and an eyeroll from Kyungsoo’s part, but within seconds he’s smiling because of course Jongin would text him whatever pun he thought of even if it was bad. This one is silly but he kind of likes it too because it’s innocent and cute and both are traits that the world lacks, whereas Jongin has too much of both.

His smile almost instantly fades upon realising that it’s 2 a.m. of a Wednesday and Jongin being awake this late on a weekday has never meant anything good before. Why would it be any different this time?

_**Kyungsoo:**  
Clever one. Shouldn’t you be in bed? It’s late._

_**K. Jongin:** _   
_I could ask you the same thing.  
Was my pun so bad to make you want me away?_

Kyungsoo sighs over his half-eaten bowl of cereal, his gaze drifting towards the cupboard at his right whose top drawer holds not only the cutlery but also a pack of filtered cigarettes. All he needs to do now is pull it open and stick his hand inside, retrieve the pack from the back and pop a cigarette in his mouth; one long drag from it and the pressure in his chest would be gone with a puff.

_**Kyungsoo:** _   
_Awful. It’s going to keep me up for days.  
Where are you? Is everything alright?_

Smoke. It spills from Kyungsoo’s mouth like water flowing from an open faucet, rising to the ceiling in white swirls of toxic chemicals that are slowly draining the life out of him. A light tap to the cigarette and ashes fall into the bowl, floating on the milk like the (unfortunate) survivors of a shipwreck struggling to stay afloat in the middle of the frozen ocean. A random thought that the Cheerios could be the lifesavers entertains him probably more than it should. 

It’s his personal re-enactment of the sinking of the Titanic, where he’s heading towards his demise yet does nothing to change the course and save himself. 

_**K. Jongin:**  
I’m fine. My throat felt dry so I went to grab some water._

_**Kyungsoo:**  
Are you home?_

_**K. Jongin:**  
It’s two in the morning, where else would I be?  
Why are you up?_

Kyungsoo’s lips curl into a bitter smile as he takes one last drag from his cigarette, dropping the stub into the milk that the ashes have coloured grey. It stays afloat amidst the soggy donut shaped cereal and he can’t help but think of the amount of irony that this simple blue bowl holds; Cheerios, a cigarette stub, milk, ashes, Jongin’s text message, promises. _Lies_

_**Kyungsoo:**  
I’m having a midnight snack. Cheerios._

_**K. Jongin:**  
It’s way past midnight. _

_**Kyungsoo:**  
Consider it an early breakfast, then.  
Are you sure that everything’s good?_

_**K. Jongin:**  
Absolutely._

If awards were given for poor judgement and best façade, Kyungsoo had no doubt that Jongin and he would take home one each. Though perhaps they could share them, since both seemed to be still adamant about making bad decisions and collecting lies despite being fully aware of the consequences they would bring and the way they would affect their lives and the people around them.

_Hypocrite._

Who did he think he was, treating Jongin like an irresponsible child when he couldn’t go one day without smoking? When he had lied about attending weekly Narcotics Anonymous meetings despite having never set a foot there before? When he should’ve offered Jongin comfort and a shoulder to lean on instead of scolding him when he showed at his door with tears in his eyes and shame colouring his cheeks?

**_K. Jongin:_ ** _  
Hey, Kyungsoo…?_

Seconds tick out and Kyungsoo is still waiting for the remainder of Jongin’s text to come in but it never does and he’s left to wonder what he’d been meaning to say and what could’ve deterred him from sending his message. Did he fall asleep? 

Another five minutes go by and Kyungsoo sets down his phone at last, breathing out a frustrated sigh as he carries the bowl to the sink and dumps its contents in it, watching as the ashy milk goes down the drain but the cereal doesn’t and neither does the cigarette stub.

Sighing, he tosses the rest of the cigarettes into the sink and opens the tap, watching as they get soaked and turn into a lump of mushed paper and tobacco leaves. The clear water easily washes away the remnant milk and ashes but unfortunately it doesn’t do the same with the growing anxiety and guilt in Kyungsoo’s chest.

The urge to set himself on fire is strong, but instead he bends over the sink and pushes his head under the faucet to cool down the heat building inside him. One minute later he’s sitting on the kitchen floor with his back pressed against the door of the fridge and hair dripping heavily onto his clothes, his cold fingers curled around his phone in hopes that one last text from Jongin will come in. 

But it doesn’t.

 

 

Somewhere at the other side of town, a boy stares at his phone screen and the pad of his thumb hovers over the _send_ button, tired eyes flitting over the words he wrote for Kyungsoo but doesn’t dare say. There is so much he wants him to know but the conditions aren’t favourable for either of them and he fears what they might unleash. 

Jongin changes his mind at the last second and hits the _delete_ button instead, selecting _yes_ when a dialogue box pops up asking if he’s sure about deleting the draft. He isn’t, but has he ever been certain of anything? 

**_Jongin:_ ** _  
Hey, Kyungsoo…?_

Yes. Kyungsoo is the one thing in his life that he’s entirely certain of— so why is he still hesitating to reach out to him and ask for help? He sets his phone away on the nightstand and situates himself on the right side of the double bed, leaving enough room for his boyfriend in case he decides to join him tonight although that’s very unlikely to happen.

Why is he still putting up with this, if he is unhappy? Kyungsoo has asked this question so many times that Jongin has grown tired of explaining over and over that he has nowhere else to go and his boyfriend isn’t _that_ terrible all the time. He’s just difficult to deal with, especially when he has a bad day at work, but Jongin has learned how to handle him.

Keep his head down. Don’t ask any questions. Grit his teeth and blink back any tears that might pool in his eyes. _Don’t think, don’t feel, don’t be here_.

Kyungsoo wanted him to dump his partner’s sorry ass and start afresh and Jongin would’ve done that a long time ago if only he wasn’t absolutely terrified of being alone, or worse, of not being enough for anyone else. That’s what his boyfriend had made sure to remind him daily, whenever he saw an opening for delivering his cruel remarks.

A thud caused by a door closing and the clinking of keys alert Jongin of another presence and his ears perk up while he lies in bed, completely immobile, listening closely to every little noise that reverberates through the quiet apartment. 

Muffled coughs. Bare feet dragging along the hallway. The creaking of the bedroom door when it’s pushed open. That’s when Jongin closes his eyes and holds his breath, hoping that his acting is convincing enough for him to pass as asleep and be spared from whatever fate is lurking around to pounce on him. 

For a split of a second he thinks he’s been caught and will be scolded, but then a hand lands on his head and clumsy fingers ruffle his hair. The action should be soothing but Jongin knows better than to let his guard down in situations like this, especially when his boyfriend comes home drunk.

The man reeks of alcohol and smoke and a sweet perfume that Jongin’s unfamiliar with and the concoction of smells along with the unusual gentleness in his touch set off all the alarms in his head, and suddenly everything is red. 

Red lights. Red flags. Red lipstick smeared on the collar of a white shirt. Red, staining a towel as he tended to his nosebleed after coming home half an hour later than usual and getting punished for it.

Red. Jongin’s least favourite colour.

His nostrils flare and acid crawls up his throat when the smell of alcohol intensifies and moist lips press against his own, but there is no affection in the kiss that tastes like benzene— the fake sweetness does little to conceal its underlying toxic nature and Jongin has drunk so much of it that the tiniest spark would be more than enough to make him burst into flames.

_Take me away from here. Please._

The words Jongin has been meaning to tell Kyungsoo flash beneath his eyelids before he opens his eyes to face the monster that’s been poisoning him for almost a year and keeps on taking, never giving. This is his chance to fight back. Instead of gritting his teeth like he usually does, he opens his mouth and lets a single word roll off his numb tongue.

“No.”

Jongin’s vision goes red, like the roses on display at the flower shop across the street, and he relishes in the sight before he slips into a white haze.

White, like the shirt Kyungsoo was wearing the day they met.

 

 

It’s barely 6 a.m. when Kyungsoo’s phone comes alive and the melody he’s set as ringtone puts an end to the peaceful quiet that reigned over the place for the past hours. Groaning, he rolls onto his back and pats around the nightstand for the device, picking it up once his fingers curl around it.

Five text messages and two missed calls greet him from the screen of his phone. All from Jongin, and none contains good morning wishes.

Kyungsoo chooses to forgo the texts and hits the call button as he sits up and scrambles out of bed, his vision still unfocused and heart thumping against his ribcage as anxiety and fear bubble up inside his chest, forcing him awake.

Jongin never texted him so early in the morning and it was no secret that he felt strongly against phone calls (he said they made him uncomfortable and awkward and he’d rather have a face-to-face conversation, if possible), thus the only explanation to this strange occurrence was that something bad had happened to him. Something very bad, otherwise he wouldn’t be so desperate to contact him.

His call gets rejected after three rings and Kyungsoo halts in his steps, a scowl setting on his face. Something isn’t right and he’s scared to find out that it might be already too late to jump into action. Not even ten seconds have passed since his unsuccessful attempt at reaching Jongin when a text message comes in and his phone buzzes in his hand.

_**K. Jongin:**  
Can you come outside?_

Jongin’s cryptic text starts a flow of new questions that Kyungsoo is quick to disregard in favour of dashing to the front door and attempting to open it without having removed the lock first. A couple of expletives fall from his lips as he fetches the key and the door unlocks with a satisfactory click, although there’s hesitation in Kyungsoo’s movements as he pulls it open and takes a step into the hallway.

“Morning,” comes quietly from somewhere at Kyungsoo’s left and his gaze immediately drifts in that direction, his heart dropping to his stomach when he sees the state that Jongin’s in.

The clothes he’s wearing are wrinkled and dirty and Kyungsoo refuses to ponder over what those red stains on the hem might be. A glance at his face is enough to nearly have him dial the emergency number but he forces himself to breathe and not overreact, because that’s probably the last thing that Jongin needs right now.

He notices first the black eye, partially hidden beneath chunks of greasy blonde hair that have been obviously arranged to hide the bruise. Then he sees the crusted trail of dry blood coming out of Jongin’s right nostril and the red smeared over the back of his hand and knuckles and his stomach twists into a knot. He smells like sweat and looks like death and this whole situation is making Kyungsoo nauseated.

“What happened to you?” 

Jongin exhales a bitter laugh and straightens up with some effort, clenching and unclenching his fists. “He hit me,” he pauses, “so I hit him back.”

Kyungsoo stands there, dumbstruck, until he snaps back into reality and moves aside to let Jongin in. There was nothing new about the bruises and the violence that Jongin was submitted to on almost a daily basis but the retaliation—that was new.

“Sit down,” Kyungsoo commands, although Jongin is already on his way to the couch. He curls up there, beat up and dirty, but he doesn’t get called out for it. “Don’t get up.”

“Won’t.” 

With that Kyungsoo hurries into the kitchen and promptly fills a bowl with water and a glass with cold milk, setting them along with a clean cloth on a tray that he carries back to the living room and places on the coffee table. Instead of sitting beside Jongin, he pulls close a chair lying around and plops down there. 

“How long did you wait out there?”

Jongin perks up upon hearing Kyungsoo’s voice and cuts a look over his shoulder at the tray before him, reaching out for the glass of milk as soon as his eyes fall onto it. Three long gulps later, the milk is gone and Kyungsoo’s heart is heavy with anguish. 

“I’m not sure. It was still dark when I snuck out.”

“You what?” Kyungsoo frowns and takes the empty glass from Jongin’s bruised hands, setting it down onto the tray before scooting closer to the couch and dipping the cloth into the bowl. “Care to explain how you ended up like this?”

Jongin sits up straighter to make it easier for Kyungsoo to tend to him, dropping his gaze to his lap in embarrassment. “He came home drunk last night and he smelled different.”

“Different?”

“Sweeter,” Jongin clenches his fists and Kyungsoo gently uncurls his fingers with his free hand, using the other to carefully wipe off the dry blood clinging to Jongin’s skin. “It made me feel nauseated and when he started to make some advances on me I told him no. I confronted him and he hit me.”

“I asked if everything was fine and you said yes.”

Jongin flinches away instinctively when Kyungsoo raises a hand to fix his hair, dread flashing in his eyes when he sees something akin to pity and guilt casting a shadow in the latter’s rounder ones. 

A cold, wrenching sensation coils in his gut and Jongin finds himself struggling to find his voice, the throbbing in his nose and the metallic taste of blood lying heavy on his tongue reminding him of why he seldom used it.

“Jongin…?”

Kyungsoo barely has time to draw his hand back before Jongin is curling into himself again and a bitter smile cuts across his bruised face, tears pooling in his bloodshot eyes and heartbreak painting his features. He will never be able to understand how he could hurt so badly over someone who had done nothing but tear him down and apart and stomp over his already shattered heart.

“He’s been fucking someone else,” he strains out, his fingers coming up to tangle themselves through dry, dull blonde hair. “A woman. He’s been fucking a woman while also fucking me.”

Where Kyungsoo is constantly burning, Jongin is drowning. There is always smoke in Kyungsoo’s lungs and water in Jongin’s eyes, and both are choking on broken dreams and mislead lives. Come one, come all and behold, the downfall of a bittersweet youth!

“He denied it at first. He called me delusional and a cockslut and said I was only trying to make him look bad. Then he started to break stuff and said he could stick his dick wherever he pleased. Want to hear what I did?” 

“Jongin—”

Hysterical laughter has somehow bubbled amidst the frantic crying, but it’s coming out ragged and broken and Kyungsoo wants to make it stop. He wants to collect the pieces of Jongin’s heart and try to glue them back together, but there’s the possibility of further shattering the boy and he isn’t sure that he’s ready to run that risk. 

Kyungsoo’s hands are rough and his touch is far from soothing; his fingertips are stained yellow due to the nicotine and his nails short from constantly biting them to relieve his stress and anxiety. There’s dry blood and dirt under Jongin’s nails too, and his dye job has gone unretouched for so long that dark roots have started to show.

“I kindly reminded him that he’s been sticking his dick up my ass for the past year. That’s when he hit me,” The laughing subsides and all noise dies out for a few seconds before Jongin resumes bawling, howls and laments falling from his lips as thick tears stream down his face and land on his stained, wrinkled shirt.

Drip drop. Kyungsoo’s seen less sorrow in funerals. 

Jongin resists when Kyungsoo winds his arms around his shaking frame to hold him, his mind registering this action as foreign after being deprived from any sort of proper comfort for so long. He’d been tricked into believing that physical and verbal violence were normal in a relationship and love was nothing but an illusion that only the mediocre and stupid believed in.

_”And you’re smarter than them, aren’t you? Yes. You’re a good boy, Jongin.”_

Jongin’s bruised fingers curl around the plaid fabric of Kyungsoo’s worn pyjama shirt as he’s pulled closer and against his chest, allowing himself to be held and consoled despite feeling undeserving of such attentions. Of receiving love. Of Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo’s arms are wound tight around Jongin’s body as he whispers words of reassurance and solace into his ear, wishing he could rid him of his pain as easily as he thumbed away his tears. Just one swipe across his cheek and they would be gone, until more came rolling down to replace them.

They keep falling, one after the other, like shooting stars.

 

 

_THREE MONTHS AGO_

 

“Jongin, I need two scoops of Dulce de Leche in a cone.”

Nothing.

“Jongin, are you there? Dulce de Leche in a cone, two scoops.” Kyungsoo cranes his neck to search for his co-worker, his eyebrows knitting together when he can’t find him. Where did that kid go? 

He flashes a polite smile to the visibly annoyed woman waiting for her ice cream and steps away from the register to fulfil the order, apologising and bowing his head for the unexpected delay as he hands it over to the awaiting customer. He doesn’t even get a thank you but he knows better than to take it personal.

A familiar face pops up from behind the bathroom door and Kyungsoo shoots a questioning look at Jongin, folding his arms over his chest as the younger boy hurriedly makes his way back to his spot behind the counter. 

“Sorry, I took a quick bathroom break.”

Kyungsoo remains silent for a moment, reaching out to fix the hat on Jongin’s head with a sigh, “Just make sure to inform me next time. Hey, what’s that on your neck?”

“Pardon me?” Jongin averts his gaze and pulls up the collar of his blue polo shirt although it does little to hide the dark spots located below his Adam’s apple.

“That thing—”

“What thing?”

“On your neck,” Kyungsoo leans in to take a better look at his co-worker’s neck, feeling as if a bucket of ice had been dumped onto him once he made out the shape of the bruises. Fingertips. Unmistakably so. “Jongin.”

“It’s nothing.” 

Kyungsoo takes a deep breath and bites down on his lower lip to keep himself from dragging Jongin into the backroom to confront him over the bruises marring his skin, because nothing good would come out of exposing him as a victim of an abusive relationship. 

He might not be an expert on the subject but he wasn’t blind either, and he’d seen enough signs of it already to pretend not to have any suspicions about the unfortunate situation that Jongin might be dealing with at home. 

It wasn’t only in the bruises peeking from under his sleeves or the collar of his shirt. It was in the way Jongin would jump whenever he was approached unannounced or how even the slightest touch would make him squirm and shrink into himself, fear flashing in his eyes before it vanished within seconds—just like the smoke of the cigarettes that Kyungsoo promised he’d quit.

“Take your break now, Jongin,” Kyungsoo muses after a moment of silently studying his young co-worker, motioning towards the empty tables. “It’s a slow day. I’ll call you if I need a hand.”

“But—”

Kyungsoo shakes his head and offers Jongin a small smile, stepping back into place as a new customer walks in, “Have a scoop of ice cream and come back in ten. It’s on me.”

 

 

It’s past 10 p.m. when Kyungsoo’s phone rings, Jongin’s name flashing on the screen with an alarming urgency that sends a cold shiver down his spine.

It wasn’t unusual for him to receive random texts from his co-worker asking for his schedule or just to say hi, but this was the first time that he got an actual phone call. He immediately picks up upon recalling the incidents from that morning, praying to whoever dwells up there that Jongin is all right.

He isn’t.

Kyungsoo forces him to sit down and stay put while he gets him a glass of water, leaning over the sink as he tries to compose himself. He tries to blink away the sight of a frightened Jongin but it lingers—it clings to his pupils and tugs at the strings of his heart, clogging up his throat with raw emotion.

When he comes back and finds Jongin pacing about, face still pale and gaze unfocused, he knows that he can’t keep silent about this whole situation. Not when Jongin showed up at his place looking like this, when he could be in danger at home.

“Jongin,” he calls with the softest voice he can manage as he approaches the younger boy and stands before him to cut his pacing. “Let’s take a seat, shall we?”

Jongin hesitates at first but doesn’t protest, waddling over to the couch where he plops back down with a sigh. Kyungsoo follows, carefully setting the glass onto the coffee table before shifting to face his distressed co-worker and friend.

_Friend._

Could he call him that? Had he earned the right the lay that label upon him? Considering that Jongin had willingly come here to seek shelter when he could’ve gone anywhere else, Kyungsoo concludes that yes. He could call him a friend.

“I’m sorry I came unannounced, and so late at night,” Jongin starts, forcing a somewhat nervous smile across his face. “Thank you for not making me go home.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you wanted to be there, or if you _could_ go back.” Kyungsoo bites his lower lip, hesitating briefly before voicing out the rest of his thoughts. “But you can’t. Am I right?”

The younger boy slumps into the cushion with a shaky sigh, tipping his head back as he directs his gaze upwards and rakes his eyes over the expanse of the ceiling. He traces invisible maps and connects invisible dots and Kyungsoo waits, but after a whole minute of heavy silence Jongin still doesn’t seem to have found what he’s been searching for.

“It’s lonely there.”

Kyungsoo frowns, “You live with someone else, right? Your significant other.” _Boyfriend_.

“Yeah, but he isn’t home. He went out.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know,” Jongin admits, toeing off his shoes before pulling his feet onto the couch and wrapping his arms around his legs. “I never ask about his whereabouts. He doesn’t like it.”

“Jongin—”

“He says that trust is the base of any successful relationship and thus I shouldn’t question him about the things he does and says.” Jongin runs a hand through his blonde hair and gulps, his eyes glazing over as his fingertips glide over the bruises below his Adam’s apple. “But I did.”

“What happened?”

Jongin smiles sadly as rests his chin atop his knees, and when he wiggles his toes Kyungsoo notices at last that he isn’t wearing any socks. “I just asked if he’d be coming back in time for dinner of if he would be eating outside. That was all.”

“The bruises on your neck… Did he do them?”

“He apologised!” Kyungsoo flinches back at Jongin’s sudden loudness, pink dusting the latter’s cheeks and ears as shame takes over once realisation hits him. “He explained that he didn’t mean to hurt me and promised to never do it again. He said he loved me and that he forgave my mishap.”

Oh boy. Kyungsoo doesn’t even know where to start because nothing that Jongin said makes any sense. Would this be the right time to address the elephant in the room? It’s no easy task and there’s no way of knowing what Jongin’s reaction will be, but this is a risk he’s willing to take.

He’d rather be yelled at for speaking out the truth, even if it’s an unpleasant one, than being haunted by the weight of guilt and regret of thousands of words left unsaid. 

_Ignorance is bliss._ Says who? Because he can’t see any smiling faces around. 

_Knowledge is power._ Well, Kyungsoo would want to see Sir Francis Bacon say that to Jongin’s face without choking on his words. Oh, but Sir Francis isn’t here, so it’s his duty to speak up and grant Jongin the power to break free from the chains holding him back. 

“Jongin,” he starts, careful. “That is _not_ love.”

Jongin’s expression slowly contorts into one of displeasure, all traces of fright vanishing as he narrows his eyes warily and shifts away from Kyungsoo. “What do you know about love? You’re single, and who knows for how long you’ve been already.”

The harshness of Jongin’s words strikes a chord within Kyungsoo and he falls silent, trying not to react to the taunt nor to succumb to the reminder of how hopeless he is. The streak of failed relationships he’s accumulated throughout the years suggests that no one wants to keep him for good but hey, at least he doesn’t have to put up with the crap that Jongin lives every day.

“Better alone than in bad company, don’t you think?”

There’s a subtle bite in his words that doesn’t go unnoticed to Jongin, whose offensive posture shifts into a defensive one and Kyungsoo is oh, so satisfied with the effect his words had on the other boy. He means no harm, but he isn’t going to let Jongin step over him either. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kyungsoo shrugs, “It means exactly what you’re thinking. A picture is worth a thousand words and the bruises I’ve seen on your arms and neck and the fear in your eyes have given you away. I’m not blind, you know?”

The silence that follows is thick, albeit not heavy enough to suffocate Kyungsoo’s words that linger and cling to Jongin’s eardrums, crawling under his skin and coiling around his throat like cold claws. Another moment goes by and Jongin stands up from the couch, not sparing a single glance at Kyungsoo as he strides over to the door and curls his fingers around the knob.

“Had I known that you wouldn’t be of any help, I would’ve never come here.”

 _Bingo_. Kyungsoo sits up straighter, his throat feeling suddenly dry. He’s craving a smoke.

“So, you came here looking for help. My help, to be exact.”

Jongin freezes upon hearing this statement, unable to deny it because Kyungsoo is right and that’s exactly the reason he came here out of all places—because there’s nowhere else he’d rather be, even though this is his first time at Kyungsoo’s. 

Maybe he should’ve taken a minute or two to think this over, ponder if he was being reasonable by showing up at his shift manager’s door whilst in the middle of a mental breakdown.

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo calls from the couch, having taken note of the younger boy’s hesitation to leave. Now he needs to find a way to make him stay and that’s probably the hardest part, but he ought to try. “I’m worried about what could happen to you if you go back.”

“Nothing will happen to me, you’re just being dramatic.” Jongin glances over his shoulder in the direction of the couch, instinctively shrinking into himself under Kyungsoo’s accusing gaze. “He loves me and he promised to never lay a finger on me again and I believe him.”

“Oh, I rather be dramatic than blind.” There it is. Kyungsoo could stop right now but he chooses to continue, because Jongin can’t keep on pretending not to be living a nightmare. “Both of us know that this isn’t the first time that he’s hurt you and it won’t be the last, either. You came here seeking shelter so please, let me help you.”

It’s past 11 p.m. now and Kyungsoo’s coffee has gone cold from sitting unattended for too long, and his heart beats a bit faster with every second that ticks out.

“I don’t like your ways of helping,” Jongin says at last, his voice quiet and loaded with resentment although it isn’t directed at Kyungsoo but rather the fact that he’s right and he refuses to admit it. “You’re rude.”

“You’re in denial.” A heavy sigh falls from Kyungsoo’s lips when he realises the negative impact that those three words could have on Jongin. He’s supposed to make things better instead of worse. “Listen, here’s the deal. You—”

“I’m going home.” The younger boy announces, running his free hand through his bleached hair as he turns to face Kyungsoo and leans against the door with a huff. He’s struggling with something, that much is clear, but it’s impossible to know what’s going on in that blonde head of his. “Can I…can I come by again?”

The unexpected question takes Kyungsoo aback and draws a gasp from his lips. his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. His expression must’ve changed dramatically because regret immediately contorts Jongin’s features and his Adam’s apple bobs when he gulps.

Kyungsoo opens his mouth to speak up before everything starts going downhill but his brain and body aren’t in proper sync yet, thus Jongin easily beats him to it.

“It’s completely understandable if you don’t want me here, though, because you already put up with me at work almost every day,” Jongin breathes out a strained chuckle and continues talking after a dismissing wave of his hand. “I just thought I’d ask anyway because I get lonely at home and you’re actually nice to be around, and…”

“And?” Kyungsoo softly presses on, his heart racing in anticipation. 

“I like it here. Well, no, that’s not quite true.” Another pause follows but this time Kyungsoo lets Jongin find the end of the sentence on his own instead of signalling his cue to resume talking. “What I mean is that I feel safe around you. There.”

Kyungsoo has no words. Jokes between them weren’t uncommon after having worked together for almost six months but this felt still too big for the current state that their friendship was in, although Jongin seemed to have grown to trust Kyungsoo. Asking to be taken off the list seemed rude now, especially considering the situation that Jongin was in and probably didn’t have many friends to rely on.

“It’s the first time in my life that I hear such thing.”

Surprisingly, Jongin pulls a smile that’s heavy at the corners and too tight to be genuine. “It’s also the first time in my life I’ve sought this kind of help.”

Kyungsoo’s heartbeat falters.

“Don’t mind that,” says Jongin with a smile that’s meant to be reassuring but comes out crooked and unsteady. “I should get going. It’s late.”

This is the last notice before the train leaves the station and if Kyungsoo doesn’t hurry he’ll miss it, and then it’ll be gone forever. He decides to take a leap of faith and try to catch it.

“Listen, I don’t know how much of a help I can be to you because I’m no hero—hell, I’m not even a good friend, but I won’t turn you away.”

Jongin shifts, rolling his lower lip between his teeth as he tips his head back and rests it against the door. “I didn’t come here looking for a hero, because I don’t need one.”

“What do you need from me, then?”

“A reason,” Jongin croaks out, cheeks colouring red and fingers threading through blonde hair, tugging at the roots. “I need a reason.”

Kyungsoo needs answers to the endless questions popping in his head, but he’ll let it pass this time because he knows better than to demand from Jongin what he can’t give. That’d be like trying to light a fire underwater, or like standing in the middle of the desert waiting for the rain to fall. 

He’ll let Jongin own his secrets a bit longer, and wait until they spill. Then he’ll catch them all in his hands or die trying.

 

 

_”I did not know how to reach him or how to catch up with him… The land of tears is so mysterious.”  
—Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince_

 

 

_PRESENT DAY_

“Hey, where are you going?” Jongin asks when Kyungsoo suddenly gets up from the couch and saunters down the hall, returning a few seconds later holding the phone to his left ear and his free hand tucked into the pocket of his sweatpants. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you a day off.”

“Why?

Kyungsoo looks in the younger boy’s direction, lolling his head as he walks past the couch and ruffles a head of blonde locks that once looked lovely, that much he recalls. They’re now brittle and dull, and Jongin could use a nice haircut and a dye job.

“There is no way that you’re showing up to work after what you went through last night,” Kyungsoo explains in a nonchalant tone, walking into the small kitchen where he starts making coffee and instant noodles. “Today’s my day off, too. Why don’t you go wash up while I finish this? It’ll probably be ready when you come back.”

A million questions pop in Jongin’s head when he receives a smile from behind the kitchen counter but he swallows them back down, nodding instead as he obediently lifts his tired body from the couch and trudges down the hall—but then stops and turns on his heels again, front teeth tugging at his lower lip. 

“It doesn’t feel right to ask for more when you’ve done so much for me already but could I borrow some clothes? I’ll wash them myself before giving them back, I promise.”

Time slows down and a knot forms in Kyungsoo’s throat as he stirs the noodles, trying to buy himself some time by tasting the broth. He turns around at last after taking a deep breath and rakes his eyes down the younger boy’s body, the whole 182 cm of it. 

How could Kyungsoo deny him the only thing he’s requested within the hour he’s spent at his place? It’s been almost three months since Jongin started crashing at his place at night to escape from the nightmare he’s been calling life, and Kyungsoo has grown so fond of him that Jongin could ask for the moon and he’d launch himself into space and bring it to him, wrapped up in a red ribbon.

“Absolutely. Take anything you need.”

That’s exactly what Jongin does, and when he returns ten minutes later he’s wearing some plain white tee and grey sweatpants that are a tad loose around the thighs but fit him perfectly otherwise. His skin is dewy and rosy from being scrubbed to get the dry blood and sweat off it and his hair is damp, and the moment he steps into the kitchen Kyungsoo catches a whiff of his own cologne.

 _L’Homme._ Yves Saint Laurent.

The combination of citrus and wood for the top and base notes respectively, mixed with hints of violet and ginger, go well with Kyungsoo’s natural musk but it’s a tad intense and strong for someone as young and fragile as Jongin. Something softer would suit him better. 

Smiles are exchanged as Jongin takes a seat at the table and Kyungsoo can’t help but laugh when both reach for the creamer at the same time and their hands meet halfway. What a cliché situation. 

“You’re always so kind to me,” Jongin says as he dumps creamer and sugar into his cup, stirring the coffee before bringing it to his lips for a taste test. “I don’t know how to pay you back for all the attentions.”

“I’m not expecting you to. We’re friends, right? Friends support each other.” 

A minute or two are spent in silence while they dig into their food at last, the sounds of slurping and clanking filling the small kitchen. They’ve had dinner together plenty of times already, but never had they shared breakfast before.

Despite his reserved nature and not being a morning person at all, Kyungsoo doesn’t find Jongin’s presence to be invasive—rather, he’s enjoying this rare moment of bonding that they’re sharing.

“What are you going to do now?” He asks after another minute, reaching over for his cup of coffee. 

“I’ll go home, of course.” Jongin says, unable to hold back a chuckle upon seeing the shock over Kyungsoo’s face. “My real home. You see, my mother insisted that I waited until I turned twenty-one to move out but my father… well, let’s say that he was thrilled that the little _faggot_ was finally taking his homosexuality somewhere else, away from his fragile masculinity.”

It doesn’t make sense. Why would Jongin walk right into the dragon’s lair after having barely gotten out alive from his last battle?

“He died last summer from a heart attack. My mother has been begging me to come back ever since but I was too stupid and blind to see what was really going on with my own life.” A pause. Then, a sigh falls from Jongin’s glazed lips and Kyungsoo fights the urge to reach out and touch his face. “I’m awake now.”

That doesn’t mean that the nightmare is finally over for Jongin. The scars and bruises that he’s collected throughout the past year – they blossom on his skin like withering flowers— might heal within days or weeks, but the words that have dented his heart and crushed his soul will take longer to vanish. 

Kyungsoo fears many things, although he seldom voices them out. Instead, he’s resorted to drown them with smoke, inhaling cigarette after cigarette to kill them or at least scare them away for an hour or two. Right now, he’s scared that Jongin might have a relapse and slip into another nightmare—a more terrifying one he can’t escape from, where he wouldn’t be able to follow him.

“How’s it going?”

Kyungsoo sits up straighter and looks up from his half-eaten bowl, “How’s what going?”

“You know… the thing with the cigarettes.” Jongin replies warily, eyeing Kyungsoo through his eyelashes. “There’s a faint smell of smoke floating around.”

Now it’s Kyungsoo’s turn to become shy and embarrassed when he gets questioned about his own addiction, but he doesn’t deny it. Making up excuses would be immoral, too, so he decides to own up to it and come clean about the lies he’s been telling Jongin. He owes him the truth.

“I had one last night, then threw away the ones left.” Kyungsoo explains, clearing his throat before telling the rest. He doesn’t dare look at Jongin. “I never signed up for any Narcotics Anonymous meetings and I’ve been smoking behind your back, all while scolding you for not standing up to your douche boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Jongin corrects without missing a beat, biting down on his lower lip as he slumps into the seat. “I’m leaving him. And I’ve known all that for some time already, that you haven’t quit smoking.”

“How?”

Jongin’s head lolls to one side and his bleached hair falls over his bruised eye, that’s starting to swell up. “Your chapped lips. Your stained fingertips. The bags under your eyes. All of you. I’m not blind, Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo breathes out a nervous chuckle as he leans forward, folding his arms over the table. Jongin shrugs a shoulder and reaches for his cup of coffee, gulping down the remnants of the drink. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Of course I did, I’m more observant that most people think.” Jongin smiles again, but it’s then that he happy façade he’d been holding up for the past minutes finally breaks down and his eyes fill with a new wave of hot, thick tears. “Then why couldn’t I see past his lies that he adorned with pretty words and excuses? Why did I let myself be fooled by his apologies? When did I start sinking so low, Kyungsoo?”

Sinking. The Titanic. A cigarette stub floating amidst soggy Cheerios and the ashes staining the milk grey. Maybe there’s still time to change the course of the ship, to avoid the iceberg and thus save them both. 

He’s no hero nor a lifesaver, but he can swim and he won’t let Jongin drown, just like Jongin refuses to let him choke up on smoke. They’re clinging to each other like a lifeline, holding onto their last thread of hope that lies within each other’s obsessions and addictions—and Kyungsoo thinks he finally understands what Jongin meant back then by asking him not to save him, but rather give him a reason.

A reason to push through another day, even if life continuously tried to bring him down.

A reason to come back every night, even if he got scolded for keeping his head down instead of standing his ground against his abuser.

A reason to stay alive.

Hadn’t Jongin given Kyungsoo plenty of reasons to wake up every morning, too? The smoke made Jongin sick, thus Kyungsoo had started opening the windows to let in the sunlight and the breeze to sweep away the remnants of it clinging to his walls and his pillow. (He’d even purchased a honeysuckle air freshener.)

He might’ve not signed up for any NA meetings, but he’d gone from smoking a cigarette pack a day to having just two or three before bed, after Jongin had bid him goodnight and reluctantly walked out the door. Jongin was feeble, so Kyungsoo had shaped himself up to be nearly unbreakable.

“You know what they say,” Kyungsoo muses after a moment of quiet from his part, glancing over at the box of Cheerios he forgot to return to the cupboard last night and left by the sink. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

Jongin smiles amidst his tears, looking up at Kyungsoo with glazed eyes and a runny nose, “Except jumping off a bridge. That would kill anyone.”

“Good thing it isn’t among my plans, then.”

“Smoking kills, too,” comes right afterwards and Kyungsoo’s smile falters, but then Jongin reaches across the table to touch the back of his hand with wet, trembling fingertips. “Please.”

 

 

Kyungsoo’s round eyes widen in shock when they land on Jongin as he trudges into the ice cream shop on Tuesday morning, just in time to clock in for his shift. He halts amidst moping the floor to rub his eyes and make sure that they aren’t deceiving him but Jongin is right there, despite Kyungsoo’s insistence for him to take another day off. What a stubborn kid.

The coy smile adorning the boy’s face is a rare sight, but the biggest shock comes when Jongin takes off his hat to reveal a headful of rich chocolate locks that no longer cover his eyes when they fall across his forehead. 

It’s as if a curtain has been lifted at last and the main act was finally unveiled, and it’s one where Jongin is standing at the centre of the stage like a proud _primo uomo_ , and Kyungsoo is lucky enough to have front row seats. The show must go on and Jongin is coming through.

“I want to be angry at you for showing up when you should be resting but look at you!” Kyungsoo exclaims with a smile, gesturing at the flustered boy standing before him. “You already give off a completely different vibe just from changing your hair. You look...”

Free. Alive. Happy. Is Kyungsoo allowed to say these things? Jongin looks beautiful, too, but he decides to save that one for himself. Maybe someday he’ll be brave enough to share these thoughts with Jongin, but today is not that day.

“You look good. The colour suits you well.” 

Jongin beams at him, elated by the compliments he’s getting solely from undergoing a simple hair transformation. He, too, feels like a new person. 

“My mother insisted. She said that trying new things would be good for me, to get me out of my slump. I was hesitant because I’d grown used to being blond but then I thought, why not? What have I got to lose?”

Nothing. Up is the only way one can go after hitting rock bottom, right? 

“I think you might be making us lose money by standing there, though, so hurry and get to work.” Kyungsoo’s tone is playful and his teasing is well taken by Jongin, whose lower lip juts out as he rolls his eyes and moves to take his place behind the register. “Let me know if you need a break, yes?”

“I don’t need a break,” Jongin starts, though he’s forced to pause when a customer walks in and he gets caught in putting together a sundae. Then the customer leaves and it’s just the two of them again (there’s still an hour left until the rest of the staff comes in), and Jongin beckons Kyungsoo over to the counter once the latter has finished cleaning. “I do have a favour to ask.”

Kyungsoo has been waiting for this moment, where he’s assumed that Jongin will ask for the moon and the stars and all the gold and precious stones in earth at last, and he feels a new kind of thrill bubbling inside him as he waits for the brunette to voice his request. 

Jongin doesn’t ask for any of those extravagant things, but Kyungsoo can’t find any valid reason to complain when he gets dragged across the street once his shift is over and he’s shoved into the passenger seat of an old baby blue Ford pick-up truck. 

It’s a 1994 model that used to belong to his late father, Jongin informs proudly as he buckles up and revs up the engine, rolling down his window to let in the cool night breeze since the vehicle didn’t come with a built-in air conditioner. 

Sam Smith’s ‘Life Support’ plays on the radio as they drive and both sing along to it, the lights of other cars and street lamps becoming blurry blobs of colour as Jongin speeds past them. It’s only when the song is over and silence reigns again that Kyungsoo realises that he doesn’t know where they’re going.

His confusion grows when they pull up outside a convenience store and Jongin kills the engine, flashing him an enigmatic smile when he turns to face him, “Sorry, I just remembered that my mother asked me to get her some groceries on my way back.”

Kyungsoo hops off the truck after unbuckling his seatbelt then trails after Jongin, but decides to wait outside the store instead of following him inside. The withdrawal symptoms are starting to kick in and this is a battle that he needs to fight on his own, just like Jongin stood up against his ex-boyfriend and punched back. 

The nicotine patches have been helping him cope with the headaches and nausea, but he still feels restless and jittery and maybe he shouldn’t have had those three cups of coffee before leaving for work. Sighing, he leans against the wall and closes his eyes, trying his best to block out all sounds around him.

He inhales in four seconds, holds his breath for seven and exhales in eight, then repeats the cycle three more times until the violent red flashing beneath his eyelids becomes a soothing blue. Blue, like the cloudless sky in a warm summer morning. Blue, like his favourite bowl. Blue, like Jongin’s pick-up truck.

“Mission accomplished. What are you doing?”

Kyungsoo opens his eyes and turns to his left, where Jongin is standing beside him holding a plastic bag in a hand while slurping on what seems to be a milkshake with his head slightly lolled to one side. He finds amusing that the beverage in his hand almost matches the colour of his hair

“Nothing,” says Kyungsoo as he straightens up and brushes invisible dust off his shirt, still eyeing Jongin’s milkshake. “What are you drinking?”

“I think it’s called brownie batter or something. It’s basically an unhealthy amount of chocolate stuff blended together. Want some?”

“We work together at an ice cream shop where we sell milkshakes. This is treason,” Kyungsoo teases with a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head to decline the offering, but then he changes his mind and leans in to take a sip. It’s cold, thick, and sweeter than any milkshake Kyungsoo’s ever had and—did Jongin add an extra pump of chocolate syrup? 

“Guess you aren’t that devoted to your job either, huh.” Jongin declares with an amused smile, not even bothering to wipe the tip of the straw before taking a sip himself. Kyungsoo starts walking back to the truck but a hand on his elbow stops him, gently pulling him away from the vehicle and down the street. “Let’s go for a walk.”

And that’s exactly what they do. They for chat a bit over a bag of chips while they saunter down the dimly lit street, and Jongin nearly drops his milkshake when he spots a fluffy Samoyed puppy walking in their direction with a short-haired girl in her teens in tow. 

Kyungsoo and the girl exchange polite smiles as they walk past each other and Jongin coos and waves at the puppy the best he can manage, a happy sigh falling from his lips as they go on their merry way. Kyungsoo is feeling well again, and he mentally gives himself a congratulatory pat on the back for successfully overcoming the withdrawal symptoms without having a meltdown in public.

“Can you hold this for me, please?” Jongin asks when they come to a halt after another five minutes once they reach a quieter part of town, handing Kyungsoo his plastic cup for him to be able to rummage through the plastic bag.

Kyungsoo doesn’t know what Jongin’s looking for but he doesn’t ask either, sipping at the sweet beverage in the meantime while glancing around the area. They’re standing in front of a book store that seems to have been closed for months, guarded by a nearly empty coffee shop at its right and an apartment complex situated at its left, and he also counts five cars parked on the street.

The sight that greets him when he returns his attention to Jongin is bonkers. The younger boy leans his upper body backwards as he swings his right arm and then does a powerful throw, and Kyungsoo watches in slow-motion as an _egg_ flies across the air and crashes against the window of the apartment above the book store.

He witnesses in a stunned silence as half a dozen of innocent eggs (that Jongin’s mother surely planned to use for breakfast or maybe to bake a cake) become yellow slime and egg shell debris on the glass pane. Jongin is flustered and panting beside him and his facial muscles are contorted into an outraged expression, one that Kyungsoo had never seen on him—until right now, that is.

“Jongin, what the actual fuck?” Kyungsoo breathes out through gritted teeth, the blood draining from his face as he frantically looks around to make sure that no one is calling the police. “Could you please explain what—”

The window slides open and the flushed face of a fuming man appears, his eyes briefly scanning the street before they land on the young men standing on the sidewalk. Kyungsoo whimpers, mortified. This man could be in his early thirties and he doesn’t seem to be in a good mood, but Jongin manages to remain impassive while they hold each other’s gaze; the man is squinting and his nostrils are flaring and Kyungsoo fears that he might pop a vein or two, whereas Jongin’s stance is defiant, unshakable.

There’s no need for him to ask about the man’s identity, for Kyungsoo knows exactly who he is even though this is their first (and probably last) encounter.

“Watch this.”

Time slows down once more when Jongin snatches the milkshake from Kyungsoo’s hand and takes a few steps backwards, a hint of a grin playing on his face as he removes the lid from the plastic cup and dumps the remainder of its contents unto the hood of the silver car parked behind them.

The man–Jongin’s douche ex-boyfriend—barely manages to duck the empty plastic cup thrown his way, and Kyungsoo’s initial dread morphs into mild amusement as the brunette flips him off with both hands. He can’t bring himself to care anymore about getting caught or to feel bad about the man’s car when this is the least that the bastard deserves for putting someone as selfless and loving as Jongin through hell.

Fuelled by the thrill of giving the abuser a taste of his own medicine and make him pay for the things he did, Kyungsoo brings his hands up to cup his mouth as he sucks in a breath and then shouts _cheater_ while also making eye contact with the astonished man.

He shouts loud enough to attract the attention of the people in the coffee shop and across the street towards them and, hopefully, this spectacle would give the neighbours an insight about the man’s monstrous true nature that he carefully conceals to lure in his victims.

Moreover, he wants him to know that Jongin isn’t alone.

“What are you doing? Come on, let’s go!” 

One minute Kyungsoo is flashing Jongin’s former lover a triumphant smile as curious people start coming out of the coffee shop and stopping by to gauge the situation, and the next thing he knows is that he’s being dragged away from the commotion and down the street in the direction where they came from.

At some point throughout their frantic race they come across a red light that forces them to stop, and Jongin uses this small break to slide his hand into Kyungsoo’s as they work on catching their breaths. The action is sudden and unexpected but Kyungsoo welcomes it nonetheless, giving Jongin’s hand a squeeze to reassure him that this is okay and he doesn’t want him to let go.

No one is chasing them but they’re still running high on adrenaline and a brownie batter milkshake-induced sugar rush, hence they end up sprinting all the way back to the convenience store to grab a drink before Jongin finally drives Kyungsoo home.

There they come across the cashier getting interrogated by an officer regarding the whereabouts of the owner of the pick-up truck parked outside, and now it’s Kyungsoo’s turn to drag Jongin back to the vehicle and urge him to hurry up and drive off into the night in between giggles.

 

 

Kyungsoo breathes out a sigh when the vehicle comes to a halt as Jongin pulls up outside his place, turning his head in the younger boy’s direction to thank him for the umpteenth time that night for treating him to an impromptu dinner at McDonald’s (they had two cheeseburgers and a soda each) and for giving him a ride home.

He’s in the middle of wishing Jongin a good night and a safe return when the latter suddenly leans in with his head lolled to one side to nose at the patch of skin below his ear, the gesture making Kyungsoo’s eyes double in size and rendering him speechless as it caught him completely off guard.

_Come and take a walk on the wild side  
Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain  
You like your girls insane  
Choose your last words, this is the last time  
‘Cause you and I  
We were born to die_

Jongin exhales a shaky breath as he hesitantly drags his lips across Kyungsoo’s cheek and presses a soft, innocent kiss to the corner of his mouth, pulling back as Lana del Rey’s voice melts into the music and then fades out into silence.

 

 

_”He now felt glad at having suffered sorrow and trouble, because it enabled him to enjoy so much better all the pleasure and happiness around him.”  
—Hans Christian Andersen, The Ugly Duckling_

 

 

Summer went by in a breeze. The beginning of September marked the end of the insanely hot and humid days and even the foliage of the trees underwent a makeover of its own, the leaves ditching their vibrant green to paint themselves in red and gold.

Jongin said that they resembled crowns with rubies embedded into them, and he seemed to like the concept so much that the next day he showed up outside his door wearing on his head a plastic crown that was (sadly) overshadowed by his blinding smile and gleaming eyes.

Learning how to properly breathe again was a difficult task and it overwhelmed Kyungsoo at first, as the sudden clarity it brought along kept making his head hurt and his eyes brim with tears, almost if someone was continuously pointing a light at him and squeezing his throat and refused to leave him alone.

Some days he felt out of breath and struggled to get out of bed in the mornings, and more than once he’d felt tempted to make a quick stop at the nearest gas station on his way to work to grab a pack of cigarettes and smoke away the fears and insecurities that still haunted him.

Nicotine patches usually did the trick and helped him cope whenever his determination plummeted and he got presented with the nerve-racking possibility of slipping into an episode caused by the lack of the substance in his body. Using the patches put him at risk of developing an addiction to them and Kyungsoo was fully aware of that, but he had plenty of reasons to not let it get that bad.

He wanted to be clean. He wanted to get rid of the stale taste on his tongue and the stains on his fingertips caused by months of heavy smoking. He wanted to make Jongin proud, and to show him that he was stronger than his own addictions and obsessions. 

“You okay there?” Jongin asks quietly when Kyungsoo spaces out amidst putting together an order, holding a waffle cone in a hand while staring idly at the scoop in the other. “Let me.”

Now it’s Kyungsoo’s turn to hand over the items he’s holding and step aside to let Jongin serve the customer, dropping his gaze to his feet while rolling his lower lip between his teeth with the sole purpose of keeping his mind occupied. 

He couldn’t afford to let his thoughts drift away and drag him into the darkest corner of his mind after he’d finally managed to change the course of his ship and steer it away from the iceberg.

_Breathe, Kyungsoo._

Four, seven, eight. Inhale, hold, exhale.

Repeat. 

He refuses to sink.

A cold hand picks up his own and Kyungsoo lifts his head at last, eyes wide in surprise. Jongin is standing close enough for him to easily count the tiny and faint freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose. “Having a hard time?” 

“Yes,” Kyungsoo confirms after swallowing, discreetly glancing around the establishment to make sure that no one is watching before returning his attention to the boy standing beside him. “You have no idea. I’m all over the place.”

“What about the patches?”

Kyungsoo shakes his head and exhales through his nose, pursing his lips when Jongin’s fingers slip between his own, filling the gaps. “I’m trying to quit altogether.”

“No patches, then?”

“No patches,” Kyungsoo confirms, swallowing again to chase away the dryness in his throat. “But it’s all right, I’ve been through much worse and it’s almost closing time anyway.”

A group of people walks in just then forcing Jongin to break their handhold, their other co-worker rushing to his aid while Kyungsoo stays back, watching in silence as they serve five cones of ice cream (two vanilla and three of strawberry cheesecake). It takes them less than five minutes to check them out.

Jongin flashes a small apologetic smile as he walks past him and into the dining area, rushing to the front door to lock it before flipping over the _Open_ sign to _Closed_. 

He did it. Kyungsoo made it through another day without going crazy. 

“I have cleaning scheduled for tonight so why don’t you go home and rest?” Jongin suggests as he makes his way back, reaching for the mop that their other co-worker is handing him. “We got this.”

Kyungsoo ponders over this for a moment, although there isn’t much to consider and thus making up his mind is relatively easy because he doesn’t want to go home. Not if Jongin is staying.

He turns to face the confused girl alternating glances between him and Jongin and extends out an arm in her direction, wriggling his fingers for her to hand him the broom. “I’ll stay and clock you out myself so you’ll still get paid extra hours.”

“B-but…”

“You have an exam tomorrow morning, right?” The girl nods, surprised that Kyungsoo remembered that little detail about herself. “Go home and come in tomorrow for your regular shift.” 

Kyungsoo gently pries the broom from the girl’s grasp and both boys watch as she collects her belongings, waving back at her as she bids farewell before disappearing out the back door. Now it’s just them in the empty ice cream shop, with tables to clear and floors to mop.

“What was all that about?” Jongin asks, curiosity tinging his voice and grazing his features as he switches the mop for a rag and moves over to start cleaning tables. 

How is Kyungsoo supposed to explain that he’d decided to stay because he was scared to be on his own, alone with all these jumbled thoughts running wild in his head? Having Jongin around usually brought order to the chaotic state of his mind and put his troubled heart at ease, his presence alone usually managing to deter Kyungsoo from popping a cigarette in his mouth.

Jongin had become light to guide him through dark times, a mouthful of sweet air when the atmosphere became too thick and stale, and clarity whenever the edges of reason became blurry and the fog made Kyungsoo lose focus and stray from his path.

And Kyungsoo wondered, why was it so difficult for him so break free from the weight he carried on his shoulders? Did Jongin possibly know the formula to chase away the shadows lingering within his heart and move on, and would he be willing to share it with him?

“She has an exam in the morning,” Kyungsoo replies nonchalantly after a moment of silence, joining Jongin in the process of cleaning. “As your current manager, I did what I considered best for the team’s interest.”

“Liar,” Jongin accuses him immediately, looking up from the table he’s just finished cleaning. He’s smiling. “Just admit that you decided to go through all the trouble of staying and closing so you could spend more time with me.”

“Absolutely not.” Says Kyungsoo as Jongin returns to the counter and slips behind it, tongue poking out as he connects his iPhone to the speakers and scrolls through his music library until he finds a song he deems suitable for what he has in mind. It’s a ballad. “You’re giving yourself too much credit.”

“Because I deserve it, obviously.”

Kyungsoo huffs, “Maybe I’m just really dedicated to my job.”

Jongin’s laugh reverberates through the empty ice cream shop as he sways over to where Kyungsoo stands and snatches the broom from his hands. Kyungsoo ponders for a second if Jongin is going to take over his duty but then the latter sets the implement aside and makes grabby hands at him and Kyungsoo is utterly confused.

“Dance with me.”

The unexpected request has Kyungsoo wheezing and he makes a move to retrieve the broom but Jongin is quicker and catches his hands mid-air, giving them a light squeeze to coax the older boy into giving in and indulging him.

“I get paid to serve ice cream and clean floors, not to dance.”

“Technically, you aren’t getting paid for this.” Jongin points out with a roll of his eyes as he entwines their fingers and swings their arms. “The girl you sent home is the one who’s getting the money because you couldn’t stand being away from me for even a minute. I could’ve driven over to your place once I was done, you know. You just had to ask.”

Kyungsoo opens his mouth to retaliate, finding the accusation to be rather ridiculous and baseless, but Jongin’s musk hits him square in the face and his mind goes blank, his pupils dilating.

It’s different than his usual and Kyungsoo wonders why he didn’t notice it earlier, despite having spent all day working side by side with Jongin. Maybe It got lost among the sweetness of syrup and waffle cones and other people’s musk, and only now it’s finally coming through with such intensity that makes Kyungsoo feel lightheaded for a second.

Zesty bergamot and myrtle. Cedar and hazelnut. Chocolate and roasted coffee beans.

All the notes blend together perfectly into an earthy concoction and play a colourful melody in Kyungsoo’s head; splotches of copper and sprinkles of royal blue over a pearl white canvas, hints of chartreuse peeking around the edges. _Suave_.

“Did you change your cologne?” Kyungsoo asks once he slips out of his daze, ignoring for good the boyish grin that Jongin is wearing that makes his cheeks look rounder and fuller. 

“Yeah. It’s _Uomo_ -something by Valentino. Comes in a black flask. Goes well with me, don’t you think?”

Kyungsoo nods idly, clearing his throat when he remembers where they are and what they’re doing. Rather, what they’re supposed to be doing instead of wasting time—but is it a waste at all if they’re together?

“Are we dancing or not? The song is almost over.” 

“No, we aren’t. Let’s get on with the cleaning so we can go home.”

There’s less than thirty seconds left until the song ends and Jongin whines, biting his lower lip as he glances over to the counter. Using this distraction to his advantage, Kyungsoo steps backwards and tries to free his hands from Jongin’s grasp but the latter is having none of it, pulling him against and dragging him away from the neglected mop and his responsibilities as shift manager.

 

 

It’s past eleven when Kyungsoo climbs his way up to his apartment and slips inside, still a little dazed and confused after letting Jongin spin him around the ice cream shop for who knows how long. 

In his head plays the moment in which Jongin pulled up outside his place and killed the engine of the pick-up truck, leaning close to press their foreheads together and bump their noses affectionately as his right hand came to rest on Kyungsoo’s knee.

That wasn’t the first time that Jongin invaded his personal space completely unannounced, hence Kyungsoo didn’t think of the action as anything out of the ordinary; sometimes he would casually rest an arm around his shoulders or hold his waist, and he would hook his forefinger and thumb around his pinkie whenever they stood next to each other.

“I like you a lot, you know. You’re my favourite person.”

Jongin seldom deviated from his usual “Have a good night,” and “see you tomorrow,” hence this new stream of words had sent Kyungsoo straight into a state of confusion and shock in which he dwells still, as he lies in bed with an arm draped over his eyes and lips pursed tightly up as a smile threatens to break across his face.

 

 

The remaining nicotine patches end up in the trash can the next morning, buried underneath an empty cereal box and an apple core.

 

 

_  
“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.”  
—Ernest Hemingway_

 

 

_**K. Jongin:**  
Hey, is it okay if I drop by after work?  
I’ll bring dinner _

_**K. Jongin:**  
What goes better with pizza, white or red wine??_

_**K. Jongin:**  
I’m five minutes away with food and drinks_

Knock knock.

Knock knock.

Knock knock.

“Special delivery!”

Kyungsoo reluctantly gets up from the couch and drags himself over to the door, eyes puffy and a red splotch blossoming on his left cheek where he fell asleep on it. Spending his day off binge-watching _The Walking Dead_ and napping in between episodes hadn’t been part of his plans, but he’d found himself in dire need for a break after working for ten days in a row.

He kicks an empty bag of chips and a can of soda on his way to the door, trying to rub away the sleep from his eyes but the only thing he gets from that is further blurring his vision and making himself upset over it. There’s another knock on the door, urging him to hurry and get whatever’s being delivered.

Not that he can remember placing an order anywhere, thus Kyungsoo decides to let the delivery boy know about this and hopefully he’ll make it in time to his actual destination.

“I’m sorry but you probably have the wrong address, as I didn’t—” 

This is no regular delivery boy, Kyungsoo realises when he opens the door. Jongin is standing outside with a pizza box in his hands and a backpack slung over his right shoulder, dark strands of hair peeking out from underneath a red hat with some word embroidered on it.

“Oh, thank goodness. The lady from the 4B said you were home but I was starting to wonder if I had been lied to because you were taking forever to get the door.”

Kyungsoo blinks in confusion. “Slow down, I just woke up from a nap. What did I miss? Are you delivering food now?”

“No,” Jongin replies immediately, lifting an eyebrow as he lightly cocks his head to one side. “I texted you earlier that I’d be dropping by after work. With dinner. And wine.”

“Wine?”

Jongin rolls his eyes and walks past Kyungsoo, toeing his shoes off before stepping further inside the apartment. The trash scattered on the floor around the couch makes him frown but he refrains from calling Kyungsoo out. “It’s a Cabernet Sauvignon. I know nothing about wines but I asked around and apparently this one pairs up well with our loaded pizza. Today’s a special occasion so I thought we could indulge some.”

Kyungsoo, on the other hand, is still lost. “A special day? Please enlighten me. What do we need wine for? What are we celebrating?”

The pizza box is shoved into his hands and all Kyungsoo can do is watch in silence while Jongin unzips his backpack and pulls out a bottle of red wine, proudly showing it at the older boy before setting it down on the coffee table in the middle of the small living room. “You, of course!”

“Why me? Did I get promoted? Did I win the lottery?”

“Really? I can’t believe this,” Jongin huffs as he shakes his head, removing his hat at last as he makes his way into the kitchen to get a couple of glasses from the cupboard. “You’ve been nicotine-free for two whole months.”

“Two months.”

“Sixty days.” Jongin confirms, trudging back with the glasses in one hand and a corkscrew in the other. “That’s about 1, 440 hours that you’ve been clean. When was the last time you smoked?”

Kyungsoo hums in thought as he sets the pizza box on the table and opens the lid, suddenly becoming aware of how hungry he is. The pizza is simply scrumptious –thick crust, extra tomato sauce, double cheese, topped with marinated chicken, sausage, olives, peppers, and red onion—and it’s enough for him to overlook Jongin’s guts and forgive him for waking him up from his nap. 

“I had my last cigarette the night you gave your ex a broken nose. One minute I was having Cheerios and the next I had a cigarette perched between my lips.” Kyungsoo explains, flashing an apologetic smile that Jongin doesn’t catch, as he’s busy uncorking the bottle. “Then I switched to nicotine patches but threw them away as well.”

They fall into a comfortable silence while Jongin fills their glasses with wine, a concoction of different smells floating around them and heightening their senses. There’s cheese –mozzarella and cheddar— and meat and black currants and _something else_ that Kyungsoo can’t quite put his finger on because he isn’t sure whether it’s coming from the wine or the boy sitting beside him.

“I’ve been meaning to ask what pushed you to smoke,” Jongin muses after a moment, his words catching Kyungsoo off guard while he sips at his wine. It’s dry, and it tastes like cherries and black pepper and a hint of vanilla. “And I’d still like to know your story, if you’re okay with telling it.”

Smoking. This is a subject that Kyungsoo would rather not discuss but Jongin has always been very outspoken about his life as well as his addictions and obsessions, whereas Kyungsoo has remained silent about his own. It was unfair, and maybe it was time for him to finally come to terms with himself and make amends to Jongin.

“Stress. Anxiety. I needed to let out my frustrations somehow and punishing my liver by getting drunk every other day wasn’t all that appealing me. I hate being hungover, too, so—”

“You chose to mess with your lungs, instead. Brilliant.” Jongin cuts him off while peeling some chicken off his slice and popping it into his mouth, licking his fingers afterwards. “But why?”

“That’s the thing, Jongin. There is no trigger; there was no traumatic childhood, no messy breakup, no death wish. One day I was stressed so I lit a cigarette and that was it.” 

Kyungsoo reaches for the leftover crust Jongin just tossed on the box (he never ate the crust) and dips it in garlic and herb dip, taking a bite as the younger boy slathers ketchup onto his second slice.

“I would have the occasional smoke to wind down after a long day, but then came the trigger that turned it into an addiction.” Kyungsoo pops the rest of the crust into his mouth and slowly looks up from his stained fingers to meet Jongin’s eyes. “It was you.”

“Me?”

Dread and guilt flash in Jongin’s eyes and Kyungsoo is quick to add, “No, not you. Rather, the situation you were in. I would see the bruises peeking from under your sleeves and how you’d flinch whenever someone raised their voice. I felt bad for you and I really wanted to ask if you needed help but we weren’t close and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I still don’t get it.”

Kyungsoo frowns.

“I couldn’t get you out of my head. What if you didn’t show up to work the next day? What if you were in trouble but were too scared to speak up? Smoking helped me forget about you and how helpless I felt. What I wasn’t expecting was for _you_ to come to _me_.”

A pregnant pause follows Kyungsoo’s words, giving both boys enough time to collect their thoughts and mentally prepare because this is only the beginning of a conversation they should’ve had a long time ago. 

They chug down the rest of the wine in their glasses and Jongin promptly refills them, and Kyungsoo takes one more sip before reaching for another slice of pizza to keep himself busy. However, that doesn’t stop him from voicing out what he’d been pondering over since Jongin first showed up outside his door and immediately jumped to defend his abusive boyfriend when he pointed out that he was no good.

“Why were you with him? You’re smart, you must’ve noticed that something was off.”

Jongin’s answer comes fast, faster than Kyungsoo expected, and he wonders if he’s been asking himself that same question every day, getting lost in the why’s and the how’s while trying to find answers.

“I wasn’t at my best. My father had just kicked me out, my mother was too scared to go against him and I was desperate for love and acceptance and had just become homeless.” Jongin pauses there to lick some grease and ketchup off his lips. “He gave me all that and more. He told me to move in with him, and promised to look after me. I didn’t know how to repay all those attentions so I decided to devote myself to him. I mistook gratitude for love and this is what I got in return.”

Jongin slumps against the couch with a sigh and tilts his head backwards, and Kyungsoo notices that this time his eyes don’t aimlessly wander over the ceiling trying to connect invisible dots and tracing maps that lead to nowhere. His gaze is steady, and Kyungsoo’s heart is all over the place.

“At some point, I started to believe that I deserved everything that was happening to me. That I had earned every bruise and insult and, whenever I had a bad thought about him, I felt ungrateful. He’d given me so much, after all, and no one else would love me if I left. I was so scared, Kyungsoo. I was frightened.”

Kyungsoo shifts in his seat and pulls his feet onto the couch, tucking his knees under his chin as Jongin produces a Snickers bar from his pocket, tearing the wrapper open with the pads of his fingers. Delicately. Carefully. Afraid of ripping it further than necessary. Maybe Kyungsoo is reading too much into it.

“I had sworn to never speak of it but you saw right through me, and it caught me off guard. I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t know what to do. It made me embarrassed because if you saw it, did it mean that other people seen it, too? Was my façade crumbling? I didn’t want to admit it.” 

Jongin takes a small bite of his candy bar and Kyungsoo watches in silence, expectant.

“The night I came here, I didn’t think that you’d let me in. I was really surprised when you said I could keep coming and at first I felt bad for taking up your time and invading your home, but my presence didn’t seem to annoy you. You never asked anything that might be too personal, never forced me to say more than I wanted. You made sure I stayed well fed and always replied to my texts, no matter how silly they were or how late it was. You believed I deserved better, even though I felt undeserving of everything.”

“Jongin, I—”

The younger boy’s lips form a bashful smile then and he slowly looks up from his lap, and Kyungsoo notices the pink dusted across his cheeks and the red collected on the tips of his ears. 

“As the days went by, I became unhappy and unsatisfied with my situation. I dreaded the moment I had to say goodbye to you and go home. Maybe I do deserve better, I would think while on my way back. Why do I have to put up with someone that doesn’t love me, and whom I don’t love either?”

“Why didn’t you leave him then?”

“Because every action has a reaction. I was no longer afraid of not being loved, but rather of what his reaction might be.” Jongin explains calmly, and Kyungsoo slowly unfurls from his position to reach for his glass but he doesn’t drink. He knows he’s being watched.

Night has fallen already and, with it, an inevitable farewell. Is it late? Jongin must be tired after working all day, but he doesn’t want him to go. Could he stay a bit longer tonight? 

“Why were you against me smoking?”

“Smoking kills,” Jongin answers without missing a beat, his eyebrows shooting up until they’re partially hidden behind a curtain of chocolate locks. “You looked sick and tired and I hated it. I guess I played hypocrite too, because I would scold you for smoking and then show up with bruises on my body.”

Jongin shifts and Kyungsoo’s breath hitches. He’s running out of time and soon Jongin will be getting up and walking out that door, glancing over his shoulder to wish him a goodnight, and he’ll be left alone with leftover pizza, a half-empty bottle of wine and the intricate web that his emotions and unspoken words have weaved in his heart and his head. 

_Pull the plug or you’ll drown._

“Want to hear something funny?” Jongin asks as he tilts his head, resting his cheek against the cushion. Kyungsoo nods. “One night I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling while I waited for you to reply to my latest text. I waited and as the seconds passed, I started wondering if everything would’ve been different for me if I had met you sooner. If our paths had crossed before I got together with him. If I had fallen for you instead.”

Is Jongin speaking in tense or suggesting that he might have feelings for him? Kyungsoo can’t read him, and he blames it on the wine. Jongin’s cheeks look fuller now, a clear sign that he’s put on some weight over these past months, and Kyungsoo hasn’t spotted a single bruise on him ever since he moved back in with his mother. 

“You’re often on my mind, especially when you’re not physically around.” Jongin continues, pausing to scratch the tip of his nose with his right forefinger. “Lately I’ve been thinking about how much fun it must be to date you and what a great boyfriend you’d make. It’s silly but I can’t help but feel a bit jealous of whoever gets to claim that privilege.”

“Dating me is no privilege. I’m not extraordinary nor have I ever done anything remarkable.”

“Stop being so humble, it’s infuriating.” Jongin huffs, lightly shaking his head. “You knew I wasn’t well yet you chose to stay instead of running away. I said it back then, didn’t I? That I didn’t need to be saved. And you listened. You stayed with me throughout the storm even though you didn’t have to. I needed a reason and you gave me so much more. You gave me hope. You showed me friendship. You—”

Kyungsoo doesn’t let Jongin finish. He shifts to sitting on his knees and leans forward to silence Jongin with his lips, expecting to be shoved away and yelled at for his audacity. Kyungsoo counts to three then pulls back, a tad scared of what he might see when he opens his eyes.

Jongin’s wine-stained lips come into sight first, followed by the small and faint freckles scattered over the bridge of his button nose and his cheeks. They’re dusted pink, presumably as a side effect of the alcohol in his body, and Kyungsoo can’t stop himself from reaching up to touch. 

The skin beneath his fingertips is warm and soft (it makes him think of a bun fresh out of the oven), and he can’t hide his surprise and amusement when he experimentally dabs at Jongin’s cheekbone with the pad of his thumb and the lonely freckle there doesn’t smudge.

“Did you think they were fake?” Jongin asks, his voice barely above a whisper and a playful smile on his lips. “Take a closer look. I promise, they’re as real as they can get.”

Kyungsoo’s lack of response marks Jongin’s cue to jump into action, closing the gap between them to press their lips together once more. He hums a happy note when Kyungsoo brings his hands to his waist and he reciprocates the gesture by loosely wrapping his arms around his neck, tilting his head to one side to keep their noses from bumping.

The kiss starts out as tender and slow, and is loaded with all the unlabelled emotions they’d locked away long ago to protect themselves from getting hurt; they’re raw and too many to count, and small explosions are produced whenever all those emotions converge. 

Boom. Boom. 

Kyungsoo relishes in the feeling of having Jongin’s lips pressed firmly against his own and the shared body heat, tasting sugary chocolate and hints of wine when he gathers enough courage to run his tongue along the seam of his lips. He starts to pull back to catch his breath but Jongin is quick to chase after his lips, and the alcohol induced daze he’s still in renders Kyungsoo unable to resist when the younger boy threads his fingers through his hair to reel him back in.

A messier kiss ensues from Jongin’s eagerness and Kyungsoo’s inability to deny him, fragments of the story they’ve written together during the past months playing in the latter’s head as he further loses himself into the memories filling every corner of it, piling up like snowflakes on a windowsill.

Late night visits, cigarettes, and bruises. Heroes with no name, ships sinking and Cheerios. Ice cream scoops, a blue Ford pick-up truck, and nicotine patches. Wine, chocolate and Jongin’s cologne. 

“Easy, Jongin.” Kyungsoo breaks the kiss when Jongin surprises him by nipping at his lower lip, bringing a hand to the younger boy’s chest to create some distance between them. He doesn’t miss the way his eyes grow dim, the TV light casting shadows over his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m scared that this might be a dream,” Jongin admits breathlessly, leaning into Kyungsoo’s touch when he cups his face. “What if I wake up to a different reality? What if you disappear when I open my eyes?”

“I promise you that this is not a dream. You’re awake. I’m here, and I won’t go anywhere.” 

But it’s not enough. Kyungsoo can see that Jongin is genuinely frightened about the possibility of this moment being nothing more than a figment of his imagination, of losing everything they’ve built thus far. It’s understandable that he feels this way, especially if all the nasty things he was told by his ex-boyfriend were taken into account.

Jongin’s eyes widen in horror when the older boy detaches entirely from him and stands up from the couch, wondering if his insecurities had scared him off. “Kyungsoo…?”

“Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

When Kyungsoo returns to the dimly lit living room, he finds Jongin curled into himself and quietly sipping at his wine, visibly upset over what just happened. Hopefully he can change his frown into a smile.

“Hey,” he greets as he reoccupies his spot on the couch and uncaps a black Sharpie with his mouth, quietly reaching for Jongin’s free hand. “I’ll borrow this for a bit. Hope you don’t mind.”

The tip of the marker glides easily over Jongin’s skin as Kyungsoo traces straight lines and perfectly round o’s, brushing his fingertips over the words written in black ink before Jongin draws back his hand and brings it to his eye level for further examination.

_If lost, return to Do Kyungsoo._

That’s enough.

 

 

Kyungsoo spots two moles on the left side of Jongin’s stomach when he strips him out of his shirt, and he presses a kiss to each one as he works on undoing the front of his pants. A muffled giggle coming from the boy beneath him exposes his stomach as a ticklish spot and Kyungsoo uses this new information to his advantage, peppering more soft kisses over the expanse of soft skin around his navel.

Giggles turn into weak whimpers as Kyungsoo grazes his teeth over Jongin’s hipbones and runs his hands up and down his bare thighs, pausing his ministrations to peer up at the younger boy. He’s agitated, his hair messy from constantly running his fingers through it and lower lip still swollen from their previous make out session and all the biting he’s been doing to muffle whatever noise threatens to leave his mouth.

“Is something wrong?” Jongin asks at last, confused.

Kyungsoo smiles and crawls up to hover above him, settling between his thighs with his hands placed at either side of the younger’s head and heart beating fast. “No. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why did you stop?” Jongin insists, urgency tinging his voice. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“No,” Kyungsoo shakes his head and breathes out a sigh, resting his forehead against Jongin’s. “I was just thinking that we’ve been through a lot. And that you’re absolutely gorgeous.”

“So you don’t think we’re going too fast, or that this is all a mistake? Aren’t you worried that you might regret this in the morning?”

Jongin gasps when a firm hand hooks around his thigh and fingertips sink into his skin as its lifted and brought to wrap around Kyungsoo’s waist, his attention diverting to his upper body when the older boy starts pressing kisses along his jawline and down the column of his neck. 

“I like you a lot, Jongin.” Kyungsoo slips his free hand into Jongin’s and intertwines their fingers, drawing a breathy moan from the younger boy when he undulates his hips down and nips at the skin on the base of his neck. “You’re my favourite person in the entire world.”

 

 

The first thing Kyungsoo sees when he opens his eyes is a bird outside his window, jet black and an immaculate white contrasting against the pale blue sky. What kind of bird is it? Upon further inspection, Kyungsoo learns that the feathers on its back, tail and wings show a purplish-blue iridescence. Weird.

Is it a raven? The main subject of Edgar Allan Poe’s poem comes to his mind and Kyungsoo stares at the bird currently flapping its wings and singing a tune, almost as if he was expecting the bird to suddenly croak out the iconic _nevermore_ from the poem. But it doesn’t, because it isn’t a raven. 

It’s a magpie. 

Once the mystery of the bird’s identity has been solved, Kyungsoo finally starts becoming aware of his body and acknowledging his surroundings. He’s lying onto his stomach with his right cheek squished against the pillow and blanket pooling around his hips, leaving his bare back exposed. Oh, and he’s naked.

What time is it? Is he late for work? How long has he been sleeping? The amount of wine he had couldn’t have been enough to knock him out for ten hours or make him hungover. Bits of last night’s events flash beneath his eyelids when he blinks, overlapping with the present where the pillow beside him is empty and he’s left to wonder—where is Jongin?

They went to bed together last night and he remembers pulling the blanket higher up Jongin’s body when he got up to use the bathroom around 3 a.m. He’d even combed his fingers through his hair and stroked his cheek when he came back, and his heart had almost leapt out of his chest when Jongin smiled in his sleep and leaned into his touch. Everything had seemed perfect then, but now not so much.

A nagging tiny voice in his head is telling him that he should’ve foreseen this, especially after Jongin asked if he thought that they were going too fast and mentioned something about having ‘morning after’ regrets. Kyungsoo had been clear about not harbouring any doubts regarding what they were doing and his feelings towards Jongin, but this new day has brought along a million new questions. 

“Fuck.”

Sighing, Kyungsoo makes a move to start rolling over. He needs to find Jongin and sort things out before it’s too late.

“Stop right there!” Comes a cry from the door and Kyungsoo freezes, slowly returning to his previous position, and then turns his head in the direction of the voice. “I’ve worked very hard on this and you’re not going to ruin it.”

Jongin walks into the room carrying a bunch of coloured markers in a hand and a glass of milk in the other, which he sets on the nightstand before carefully climbing onto the bed and sitting cross-legged next to a shocked Kyungsoo. Now it’s his time to wonder if he’s the one stuck in a dream.

The boy is wearing an oversized yellow sleeveless shirt and nothing underneath, and Kyungsoo counts two hickeys on the right side of his neck and one on the inner side of his left thigh. His chest swells up from fondness upon seeing that the words he wrote on the back of his hand are still there, albeit slightly smudged around the edges.

“I thought you had gone home.” Kyungsoo says at last, folding his arms and propping them under his chin as he glances up at Jongin. “I woke up and you weren’t around so I thought—”

“I know, and I’m sorry about the scare.” Jongin laughs and picks up a purple marker, uncapping it to inspect it. He seems satisfied with its shade so he sets it aside, picking up another marker. “And I’m a bit hurt that you assumed I had left, but I can understand why you thought that. Truthfully, I did consider it and I was this close from running away.”

Kyungsoo gulps. “Was I that bad?”

“No!” Jongin replies immediately, the hot pink marker slipping from his grasp and landing on the bed. “No, you were great. I was so happy when I woke up and saw you next to me, but then I became scared of facing you. I hadn’t been with anyone in months and it terrified me that you would remember everything and regret sleeping with me.”

“Don’t say such things.” Kyungsoo reaches out to tip Jongin’s chin down, offering him a small smile. “I don’t regret it in the slightest. I really like you, silly.”

Boom. Boom. Another set of small explosions goes off inside Kyungsoo.

Jongin’s cheeks redden upon hearing those words and he breathes out a chuckle, picking the blue marker this time and nodding to himself in approval. He removes the cap and Kyungsoo follows its trajectory until it pokes at his shoulder blade, shuddering when the cold and moist tip is pressed against his skin.

“I’m glad that you didn’t leave. But why weren’t you in bed, and how long have I been out?”

“I was cleaning up the mess we left in the living room. There were clothes and pizza crust scattered on the floor.” Jongin hums, and Kyungsoo wonders what in earth he’s doing with that marker. “It was a quarter past seven when I woke up and it’s been about an hour since then.”

Kyungsoo sighs. “We have the closing shift today, right?”

“Mm.”

Silence. Jongin sets down the blue marker and picks up the black Sharpie, resuming his work; he connects the beauty marks scattered over Kyungsoo’s back with thick black lines, then sets to diligently fill the shapes he just traced with yellow, blue, and whatever bright colours he can get his hands on. Kyungsoo is starting to get sleepy again, lulled by Jongin’s soothing touch.

“What are you doing there?”

“I’m painting.” Jongin answers, and Kyungsoo forces his gaze away when he catches a glimpse of the younger boy’s crotch. He focuses on the shirt he’s wearing, instead. (And he’s sure that it’s his.)

“I didn’t know that you painted.”

“I don’t, but I’m in the mood.” 

Kyungsoo hums. “What are you working on?”

“Butterflies.” And, before Kyungsoo can ask about the reason behind his choice for the subject of his art, he adds, “There were too many flapping about in my stomach and I needed to get them out somehow.”

Kyungsoo ignores Jongin’s whines of “I told you to stay put, you’re ruining it!” and “Don’t be an asshole, Do Kyungsoo,” as he rolls over onto his back and pulls Jongin atop him, crashing their lips together to silence his protests even before they’ve properly settled down. 

The colour markers roll off the bed and land on the floor, some rolling underneath. The glass filled with chilled milk is left forgotten, condensation dripping down its surface and pooling around the base. Kyungsoo runs his hands up Jongin’s thighs and slips the tips of his fingers past the hem of the oversized sleeveless shirt, making the younger boy squirm and giggle under his breath.

The magpie standing on the windowsill extends its wings and then flies away, up into the sky, aiming for the stars of the milky way.

 

 

_“You know that place between asleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you. That’s where I’ll be waiting.”  
—J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan_


End file.
